


I Miss Us

by alcrevier



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcrevier/pseuds/alcrevier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Possible sequel to "There Could Have Been an Us"] Years pass by while Emily feels like a big piece of her entirety is missing, so she decides to send Alison a letter, hoping that the blonde misses her just the same. [Slight AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Miss Us

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I had another idea that branched off of "There Could Have Been an Us," and this is it. Once again, it's a small story and pretty painful, but I stand by what I said before (if you read the first short story): things have to get darker before they get brighter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little story - and, if you're wondering, the AU multi-chapter that I'm working on is much fluffier than this.

_ 1:03 P.M. \- California _

The mailbox is only a few feet away from her apartment’s front door, but Emily feels like she’s been walking for a century. Her feet alternate taking steps to carry her towards the metal bin containing rows of boxes for her and the other tenants. She passes the small shrubs lined with a dark, metal railing which barricades the greenery so sidewalk goers can’t run them down. 

Reaching the box, Emily takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as the envelope in her hand suddenly feels ten times heavier. The heart caged inside of her chest beats rapidly, creating an echoing drum in her own ears. Really, she doesn’t feel well, especially when her legs are shaking and her hands are twitching. 

She accidentally drops the letter on the sidewalk before quickly snatching it back with her timid hands. Dusting it off, she looks towards the sky and opens the box, her nerves becoming too much to bear. Much to her disappointment, the mailman had already stopped by prior to the walk-of-hell she just  _ barely  _ managed. 

Pulling out one, lonely envelope, Emily eyes the package’s details as she tucks her own letter underneath her forearm: it’s a light yellow, medium-sized, square letter with a silver ribbon sealing the contents inside. She looks at the label on the front addressed to none other than herself, cornered by a street address and number, however no return name. 

Turning back towards her apartment while her eyes never leaving the small, new delivery, she makes her way up the cemented front steps and immediately steps into her home’s hallway, eventually reaching the small, out-dated kitchen. The brunette sits down on one of the dusty, wooden chairs, hastily tearing into the new envelope as her own sits atop the table’s surface nearby. 

The now-known, silver-printed “save the date” drops onto the piece of furniture in front of her as tears well up in her brown eyes. She quickly props her elbows onto the table and buries her face into the palms of her hands as she rubs at her already-throbbing eye sockets, trying to erase the content’s message from her mind:

 

_ “SAVE THE DATE _

_ For the wedding of: _

_ Alison DiLaurentis & Elliott Rollins _

_ May 12th, 2016 _

_ Rosewood, Pennsylvania _

_ Formal invitation to follow” _

 

Emily’s mouth hangs open as she finally begins to look at the accompanying picture of her blonde ex-lover, happily kissing a long-faced man on the cheek as a waterfall backs the two, surrounded by an abundance of trees. A few tears fall from the tip of her nose and onto the wooden surface next to the laminated piece of paper. 

Over the course of the last few years, the brunette had began to miss Alison more than she expected. First, she figured that her time far,  _ far  _ away from the girl would fix things and, ultimately, repair her as a whole. Sadly, that wasn’t the case and, realistically, the distance made her heart ache. She’d walk to local coffee shops and randomly think about how cute the blonde would look across the small, round table, sipping some pricey, strong, frothy liquid out of a minimalistic mug. Sometimes, Emily would even roll her eyes at the not-so-original thought, reminding herself that they’ve never been one of “those” couples; in fact, were they ever even a couple? 

Shaking her head again, she places her palms flat on the table and takes three deep breaths, an old, simple trick that a colleague had taught her during exam season. The chair creaks and scuffs along the ground as she pushes away from the piece of furniture with the dreaded envelope. After pacing back and forth a time or two, Emily stops dead in her tracks, head whipping towards the other letter --  _ her  _ letter. She swallows hard as she bows her head, sliding down against some cabinet doors and tucking her knees into her chest. 

The brunette stays like that for hours before heading to the living room where she can throw herself onto the couch and sulk.

Day turns to night rather quickly, however, and she gets ahold of herself around 10:15 P.M. only to roll off of the couch and smell the scent of a diminishing bonfire. Peering out the window, Emily can see a group of young adults walking away from a dying fire, chatting quietly as they file into an adjacent building, drinking beers and clinking glasses of wine in celebration of whatever-the-fuck it might be; she doesn’t even know if there’s a specific occasion at all, really, because her neighbors are always loud-mouthing away in the shared backyard.

As Emily fiddles with her fingers, she looks into the kitchen and sees her letter sitting where she left it. An internal debate rages on inside her head until she storms over to the table, swipes it off of the surface, and walks out the door. 

No one surrounds the fire pit anymore aside from a lonely Emily. That’s all she’ll ever be now:  _ lonely _ . She can’t picture loving anyone else and, really, she never could. There were relationship attempts throughout college, but nothing ever stuck. Truthfully, she didn’t want them to stick. No one was ever  _ the  _ one and, unfortunately,  _ the  _ one is now someone else’s. It sucks, she thinks, that they could have made it. After everything, she figured Alison would always be her rock and her light -- her world, really. 

Without any second thoughts, she angrily tears open the envelope and eyes the paper one last time. She skims line by line as her throat quivers and heart vibrates in her chest.

The girl doesn’t even make it halfway through.

The envelope's contents end up in the embers, the fire’s remnants eating at the corners and, eventually, the middle crease. The ink fades as the paper darkens before her very eyes, getting one last glimpse of her thoughts put into handwriting: 

 

_ “Alison, _

_ I know we haven’t spoken in what feels like forever and, honestly, I wish I could change that. I have no idea how you’re doing or where you are, but I think about you everyday.  _

_ I spoke to Hanna about a week ago, and Aria a bit before that. Spencer’s been pretty busy, I assume, but Spencer’s always been busy, so. I haven’t heard from you, though. I’m not sure if you’re also busy or if you’ve forgotten about me (maybe?) or what… but I miss you. _

_ I miss us, Ali.  _

_ You and me.  _

_ Talking. Laughing. Sharing secrets.  _

_ I feel like a part of me has been missing lately and I don’t know how to feel anything else anymore. It’s difficult being over here without having you to keep me grounded. You were always great at that, especially while everything seemed to be turning to shit so quickly. You held me down and… I thank you for that. You have no idea how much that meant to me. _

_ So, I’m writing to you because I figured it would mean more than a simple text. Anyone can write a text. I mean… anyone could write a letter too, right? I don’t know. I just felt like I needed to physically write this to you because it’s important, I suppose.  _

_ I want to come home to visit. To Rosewood. And I want to see you when I do. We could meet up at a bowling alley, for all I care. I just want to see you and, just maybe, we can catch up. If you want to. _

_ P.S. Don’t feel obligated to write a letter back to me. I’d love to hear from you in any way, shape, or form.  _

_ Lots of love, Emily” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> By the way... how about that Emison montage in 7x01? I was in the middle of a conversation as "Every Breath You Take" came on and my voice just kind of... stopped working. Dramatic, right? I'm sure I wasn't the only one though.


End file.
